


you and i, one in the same (we are the cause of each other's pain)

by fitzopold



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode: s02e06 A Fractured House, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9675149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzopold/pseuds/fitzopold
Summary: “Youleft,” Fitz stresses again, because if she hadn’t -- if she would have stayed -- if --“I know,” Jemma sighs, wrapping her arms around her middle, shielding herself from him. “And that’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?”“I  --” he breaks off, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t know.”Because he doesn’t. This is a point that remains unfixed between them and he has no idea how to work his mind through it, to get around the sinking feeling inside of him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had no intentions on posting this...but then I let Eva read it and she started harassing me about not posting it, so you can blame her, and also the writers for ignoring so many opportunities to let Fitzsimmons have super angsty, emotional sex and forcing me to write fic for it instead. Every time I re-watch 2a I feel robbed all over again. Anyways, un-beta'd, mistakes are all mine, etc. 
> 
> Title: All Time Favourite by Bahamas.

It’s accidental, at first.  

 

It’s the force behind misunderstanding and the weight of every unsaid word between them pushing down on Fitz’s chest that propels him out the door after Jemma, who’d left in a whirlwind of unshed tears and a cracked voice.

 

He darts past Mack who was undoubtedly on his way to see him and barely spares him a glance when he sees Jemma turn down a deserted hallway of the base, possibly towards a storage closet or some other unidentified space.

 

The path down the hallway is dark apart from the dim, ambient lighting that licks at the shadows of the space and Fitz makes out Jemma’s form, crouched over against the wall.

 

He doesn’t need to see her face to know that she’s crying; he can hear the choked sobs wracking out of her throat and for a brief moment, he considers going back to the lab, or to the garage. Anywhere away from here where the stakes are too high for either of them to blurt out things they don’t mean, or things they’re not ready to discuss yet.

 

But then he thinks about how she couldn’t even answer him, couldn’t explain that one thing to him that would maybe set things straight--maybe help him understand _why_ \--and his anger is restored, although it’s dulled with something much less furious and more resigned, clawing away at him from the inside.

 

He opens his mouth before he loses his nerve, his voice shaky but determined. “Jemma.”

 

Jemma’s breath hitches in her throat, her hand planted against her chest as she meets his gaze, startled.

 

“Fitz, what --?”

 

“You don’t get to walk away,” he says fiercely, stepping towards her.“You - you don’t just -- just get to walk away after leaving me for all that time.”

 

Many emotions flash across Jemma’s face in that moment but the one Fitz is able to concretely identify is her own unbidden anger that she spends so much time repressing, and it only fuels the stirring in his gut.

 

She breathes out a frustrated sigh, angrily wiping the tears from her face. “I don’t want to talk about this, Fitz.”

 

“Why do you -- get t-to decide when?” His hands are shaking and he keeps getting closer, close enough until they’re inches apart, close enough that he sees the red flush on her cheeks spreading down to her neck. And she won’t look at him, not even a glance.

 

“It’s become quite clear that neither you nor I are ready for this conversation,” Jemma explains in an infuriatingly pragmatic voice, staring pointedly over his shoulder. “Perhaps when both of us are in a clearer head space, we can discuss it then.”

 

“No.” Fitz says immediately. “Why won’t you just --”

 

“Because you aren’t _hearing_ me!” Jemma all but explodes, her eyes bright with fresh, unshed tears. “You won’t let me explain or even try to help you or even _look_ at you, for God’s sake, how could we possibly have a useful conversation?” her voice breaks off at the end and she looks away from him, clenching her hands in quivering, irritated fists.

 

“You _left_ ,” Fitz stresses again, because if she hadn’t -- if she would have stayed -- if --

 

“I know,” Jemma sighs, wrapping her arms around her middle, shielding herself from him. “And that’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?”

 

“I  --” he breaks off, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t know.”

 

Because he doesn’t. This is a point that remains unfixed between them and he has no idea how to work his mind through it, to get around the sinking feeling inside of him.

 

“I think I should -- I should go,” Jemma mumbles, pushing herself away from the wall, away from him, and he barely thinks, doesn’t think at all, as he crowds into her space, catching the flash of surprise on her face before his lips press against hers, completely unintentional up until the second it isn’t.

 

She gasps softly against his lips but makes no movement to pull away; instead she grips the back of his neck and presses him closer to her until they’re flush together against the wall.

 

This shouldn’t be happening.

 

Fitz knows this shouldn’t be happening but he can’t stop, all thoughts have seemed to skid to a halt except for the warm press of Jemma’s tongue against his, their breath mingling. Whatever sweet, soft hesitance that might’ve been there under different circumstances is absent, replaced with the biting, raw sensation of clicking teeth.

 

Fitz swallows every gasp, every moan that Jemma makes, gripping at her hips tightly. She angles his head in order to deepen the kiss, tugging his bottom lip into her mouth roughly, and he shudders at the sting, his hands winding around her waist.

 

There’s a brief pause when their lips separate, both red and swollen, before Fitz leans down, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses against her neck, needing more of her skin and less of everything else threatening to take him away from this moment.

 

Jemma moans brokenly, tilting her head to the side as she buries both hands into his hair, bringing his mouth closer to her skin, greedily accepting all he’s willing to give.

 

“ _Fitz_ ,” she whispers, low and rough, her hips rolling insistently against his, and it spurs him on.

 

The anger he feels isn’t replaced, not necessarily, but channeled into something else--a feverish and all-consuming desire to watch Jemma fall apart under him. Vulnerability isn’t new to them; they’ve shed every layer, broken through every wall between them long ago, but this is different. It’s raw, permanent, and it rattles him to the core.

 

Fitz brings her leg up to his hip, rutting himself against her to relieve some of the pressure on his dick, straining hard in the denim of his jeans. He sucks the skin just below her pulse point into his mouth and Jemma whines into the shortened strands of his hair, the sound high and desperate and needy.

 

He’s drunk on the sounds she makes, cataloging each of her responses to his movements, particularly when he focuses on a specific spot just below her ear, which makes her squirm and whine and tug on his hair even harder. He repeats the motion, bucking his hips against her, and she whines again.

 

There’s no time for Fitz to rethink everything they’re currently doing before Jemma pulls away abruptly, reaching down between them to hastily unbuckle her belt and unbutton her jeans. Fitz mimics her, his movements speeding up again with newfound urgency as the last shreds of his hesitance fly completely out the window.

 

His lips are on hers again and he instinctively slips his hand into her underwear before he can think the better of it, his knuckles brushing against the slick heat he finds there.

 

Jemma lets out a surprised noise into his mouth, her hand is clutching his shoulder tightly as she bucks against him, eagerly chasing his movements, and Fitz has to force himself to inhale through his nose, force himself to breathe properly.

 

His hand shakes but he presses forward, dipping lower and slipping a finger inside of her, dizzy with the feeling of Jemma tightening around him, wet and hot.

 

“ _Fitz_ ,” her whine catches in her throat and he looks into her eyes then, darker than he’s ever seen before, and he groans when she squeezed around his finger.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Jemma,” he breaks off, circling his thumb against her clit before slipping another finger inside,  and Jemma gasps, gripping his face in both her hands.

 

“More,” she begs softly, tilting his head to meet her lips, trembling. “I need --”

 

He nods jerkily, every nerve ending in his body on fire, and pulls away slightly to push his pants and underwear down, just enough to get himself out while Jemma wiggles out of her own hurriedly.

 

She’s grabbing at him again within seconds, pressing him close and widening her leg enough for him to slip inside of her.

 

They both gasp, their lips mere inches apart, and Jemma inhales sharply as he stretches her, his pace maddeningly slow.

 

She clutches the back of his head, her hips jerking forward in attempt to jump-start some kind of rhythm. It’s sloppy and inconsistent and their mouths are pressed together but they’re hardly kissing now, unable to connect as he pulls out before clumsily thrusting back in.

 

It’s good but it’s not enough, so Fitz presses her further up against the wall in an effort to gain some leverage and she sinks down onto him, her gasps coming out loudly now, her lips brushing against his ear. He grunts pathetically into her neck, overwhelmed as he tries to maintain the pace they’ve set.

 

They won’t look at each other--Jemma just grips at his back, hooking her leg around his waist to push him in deeper and he holds her there, his fingers digging into her hip, sweat forming on his brow as he concentrates on the breathless sounds she makes, on the way she says his name, whispered and broken and not quite believing they’re actually doing this,  filing them away in his mind because he’s certain he’ll never be this close to her again.

 

She suddenly lets out a high, strangled wail, her fingers digging into his shoulder. “I’m - Fitz, I --” she manages to choke out, and Fitz knows she’s about to come, feels the way she clenches hard around him, and fuck, it’s almost enough to make him come right then, his shoulders tensing as his hips snap against hers.

 

“Come on,” he grits his teeth, winding his other hand down between them to rub his thumb against her clit, thrusting harder. “Come on, I’ve got you.”

 

Jemma’s gasps break off into a sob, her shoulders shaking, and then she’s toppling over the edge, taking him with her.

 

* * *

 

It’s a long, stifled moment before they finally pull away, slow and bewildered, afraid to look in each other’s eyes.

 

Fitz turns away from her, facing the other direction as he pulls his pants up, inhaling slowly. He braces himself against the wall, trying and failing to collect himself.

 

Everything feels different between the two of them now, he air is thick and nothing is even remotely better, or easier. It’s worse.

 

“This doesn’t change anything.” Fitz mumbles, ignoring the heavy weight that settles in his stomach. He doesn’t look at her.

 

Jemma inhales shakily. “I know.”

 

This time, when she moves to leave, he lets her.


End file.
